Dangerous
There are no governments outside of New America. Europe, Asia, Africa, and nearly every other continent and major landmass is gone. The result is that every Remnant on the top ten list resides in New America. And, for whatever reason, most of them call New Chicago their home.
“Hey, Arya,” Alice’s soft voice pierces my thoughts for the second time. I glance up at her, and she gestures to the window outside. “There’s a guy here looking for you.”
I frown, but give her a nod. Polishing off my coffee, I toss it in a waste bin and pocket my phone.
“Have a good night, Alice,” I say, passing by. She gives me another smile, this one friendlier, but only just.
I only make it one step out of Arthur’s doors before a hand wraps around my face and I feel the barrel of a gun against my back.
“Move quietly. I’d hate to blow the cute blonde’s head off.”
I say nothing, complying as the man prods me off towards the nearest alley. My heart thumps a few times before steadying. My breathing regulates as he spins me to face him, gun still leveled at my chest.
Where my heart would be.
His face is truly uninspired. A regular, run-of-the-mill white guy with dark brown hair. He’s as unoriginal as Malachi Blackwood had been, and I almost wonder if these guys are just cloned vat-babies being used for whatever DAEMON has going on.
He gives me a sardonic grin as he pulls back a lever on the weapon. It doesn’t look like anything I’ve seen before, the device itself seems manifested rather than built.
“You make that yourself or is there a black-market for strange guns I don’t know about?” I ask, gesturing at the implement.
The weapon disappears and then reappears in his other hand. “It’s my own.”
“Fancy trick,” I say, giving him a grin. “What can I do for you, Mr. Gun?”
“That’s not my fucking name,” he hisses, the gun reappearing in his right hand again. Clearly the guy’s not a lefty. “It’s Triggerman.”
“That’s actually insanely dumb,” I scoff out, dropping my hands to my knees as I laugh. “You should go with Mr. Gun.”
He swipes at me, the weapon nearly striking me on the crown before a tendril of dark blackness wraps around the barrel. It goes flying into the darkened alley behind me.
“What the—” he looks startled for a moment before another weapon manifests in his hands.
“Look, man,” I say, raising my hands in mock supplication. “What do you want? I don’t have any money. I’m a Tier 1.”
“There’s a bounty for information about that serial murderer,” his grin malicious. “Who better than the necrophilic freak?”
My teeth slam together as I bite back the insult brimming on my tongue.
“Alright,” I begin as calmly as I can. “We haven’t found anything yet besides the bodies. Whoever’s put out the bounty will just have to wait.”
“Not good enough,” he sneers, leveling the gun at my forehead. “Guess I’ll have to go find that pretty detective and shake it out of her instead.”
Darkness floods the alley. My own form disappears into the inky black as it shifts and vibrates around him.
“Hey—” Triggerman yells out, but his mouth is summarily gagged with a tendril of shadow. Shadows bind his right hand, a quick wrench shatters something in his shoulder, the snap echoing down in the alley.
He lets out a pitiful scream as I move around him, still bathed in the darkness. He’s seen my face and threatened Percy. His left hand comes down to try and re-manifest the weapon, but it’s shakier in his offhand.
“The Dark One is here,” I say behind him before shadow-jumping deeper into the alley. I pull the cloak and mask from the shadow-vault, sliding both on in the cover of the darkness.
Triggerman coughs out a swear before firing out into the closing darkness around him.
“You stupid bitch!” he cries out, voice much higher than before.
“I wouldn’t talk to her like that,” I say, my voice modulated by the mask. My boots squelch through the damp dirt and debris scattered along the alley floor.
“Wait,” Triggerman says, his voice pleading as he tries to look through the darkness. “Wait, I can explain.”
“No more time,” I say, emerging from the ink. “Just be thankful I’m not about to end you where you stand.”
“What?” he stammers stupidly, the words lost as yelps in pain.
His right hand flops uselessly to the stone floor. Razor-sharp shadows curl around the wound, applying pressure to stem the bleeding. I reach out with another tendril of shadow. It wraps around his neck, tight enough to lift him off his feet, but loose enough to answer my questions.
“Who put out the bounty?” my voice calm, but tone firm.
He screams incoherently, his left hand gripping at his right wrist.
“Speak or die,” I growl, patience slipping.
He kicks out, but his feet slam uselessly against my abdomen.
“I don’t know,” he chokes out. “It’s anonymous.”
His eyes bulge as the shadows constrict around his throat. His fear is practically palpable as veins bulge along his forehead. This idiot doesn’t know anything. He’d give it up in a heartbeat if he did.
The shadow around his neck dissipates and he falls roughly to his knees.
“Now go,” I say, nodding to the end of the alley, “and don’t go after Arya Skovsgaard again.”
The shadows part to show the exit of the alley and he stumbles off, gait clumsy, hand still dripping with blood.
For a moment, the alley swirls with the dissipating evening shadows.
“H-hello?” a soft voice stammers from near the alley. I look up to see Alice—face pale, arms wrapped tightly around her chest.
“Go back inside,” I say, hoping my voice isn’t nearly as terrifying as it often is. My reflection on the nearest window isn’t beating any allegations, though.
The mask is reminiscent of the old plague doctors from before the Second Disruption. Its elongated beak and glassy dark eyes are relatively banal for Remnant attire, but to Alice? I must look like a monster.
“Where’s Arya?” she asks, voice shaky, but defiance clear in her blue eyes.
I take a few steps closer, holding my hands up to show I mean no harm.
“She’s safe,” I say simply. My chest warms a little that she would care so much about my wellbeing.
“I’ve heard about you,” she says, swallowing thickly. “They say you’re in the Guild, but you’ve never let them scan you. They say you’re one of the most powerful Remnants alive.”
“That’s probably overselling it,” I say, not moving from my position a few yards from her. “Where'd you learn that?”
“There are dNet boards about you,” she shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “Sorry.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, trying to make sure humor is evident in my tone. “Go back inside and call the NCPD, please.”
She nods, giving me one last look before hustling back inside. I glance at the roof of the nearest building—taller than the others in this neighborhood.
The world folds, darkness swirling around me. I step out over the edge of the building. The sirens of NCPD’s finest flash in the distance—fog and haze refracting the lights at odd angles.
I catch movement off the corner of the street, opposite the NCPD’s approaching vehicles.
A tall figure, dressed in all black. Their height against the bricks beside them would put them a few inches taller than me. They watch the commotion growing outside Arthur’s, before looking directly at me.
I blink and they’re gone—a wisp of red dissipating in the wind.
Odd.
Alice appears outside the building, her slightly curled posture showing just how little she cares for the NCPD. An officer speaks to her for a few minutes. From this far away, even my enhanced hearing has trouble picking up much besides my civilian name and then a mention of “the Dark One.”
What a stupid name, honestly. The melodrama alone is almost enough for me to let RISE actually scan me for my powers, just so I can give them a better name.
But that would mean Containment. So, the silly identity will have to do.
I glance down at my indicator in the mask’s heads-up-display. Already nearing seven, there’s very little I can probably do for the case itself.
As usual, there aren’t any notifications from the Guild. Either because they don’t trust me or they don’t need someone like me—and either reason is fine with me.
I hate being wielded like a loaded weapon.